


Senses

by nandonman



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games)
Genre: Asexual Cole, Completely off canon bcs lazy, DA4, Human Cole (Dragon Age), Kisses, M/M, dragon age 4, general one shot, matured Cole, soft poetry vibes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-20
Updated: 2020-02-20
Packaged: 2021-02-19 13:30:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,584
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22811842
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nandonman/pseuds/nandonman
Summary: Cole explores his senses around the strange elf of Tevinter.
Relationships: Cole (Dragon Age)/Original Character(s)
Kudos: 7





	Senses

**Author's Note:**

> Bruhs, forgive me for I'm shit at actual plot

Na'Halir knew he'd spent an indecent amount of time alone in his tent, hunched over the ancient text that had stolen his interest so. He couldn't help it. After recovering the artifact, he'd needed to do his bit of research on Fen'Harel, being the designated Keeper for the band of heroes he worked with. And once he started, there was just no way he wouldn't get absorbed. The tome held centuries of knowledge that not only would affect the fate of the world, but also held the answers his ancestors had long since forgotten about their history--his culture. It was true the Dalish were only an echo of the Elevhen of before, but even a skewered reflection was still made of the same light.

And so he sat, elbows resting on either side of the old book at his desk, eyes weary from hours of concentration. That is, until a familiar voice caught his attention.

A dark haired mage poked his head inside the tent with a charming smile. "Supper's ready. Though I can't say you'd miss out in here. The soup tastes of . . . despair. It's really rather fascinating."

Na'Halir blinked and managed to extract himself from his position, legs sore and vision blurred as he looked towards the entrance to the tent. Dorian had left without much else to say, leaving Na'Halir with a moment to collect himself before meeting the others outside.

The night was cool and starless, with the swaying branches of towering trees above them blocking out much of the view. It was strange to look up and see greenery, instead of towers. Although, Na'Halir never really saw much beyond his master's quarters anyway.

Some ways away a fire burned, and around it sat all of the companions Na'Halir had met so far on this bizarre journey: Dorian, the confident and dashing mage--not magister, to Na'Halir's relief (and somewhat disbelief)--Artemis, a stubborn warrior whose mouth was as big as her shield, and Cole, the strange and reclusive rogue.

The elf made his way to the fire's side and sat beside Artemis, dishing himself a share of the meal. He had no idea what Dorian meant by it tasting of despair--Na'Halir was used to eating rations by now. Around him, the conversation shifted as he took his place, and the atmosphere grew heavy with the mention of the Elevhen tome.

"What have you learned about the Wolf then?" Artemis asked, words muffled by chews.

"Nothing, so far," Na'Halir answered. "So far, it's been more of a history book of civilizations rather than the actual knitty gritty. But I'm sure something'll turn up soon."

Artemis shrugged, and silence fell upon them once again.

That is, until Dorian returned from his trip to their supplies. With him were 5 bottles of Antivan wine, and he smiled garishly.

"Anyone thirsty?"

His inquiry was met with an enthusiastic response, and soon each adventurer was suited with a well sized fill of wine and a satisfied smile. That is, mostly everyone.

"I've never had a drink such as this before," Cole spoke softly. Pairs of eyes landed on him, namely a sparkling duo above a finely trimmed mustache.

"What? I thought for certain the inquisitor would have introduced you to fine tastes. If not her, then Varric, surely."

Cole simply shook his head. "It's red. I wonder if it would taste . . ." The rogue trailed off shortly as he took a sip of the wine--then shivered.

Dorian smirked and gave a small nod toward the other man. "Exquisite, isn't it? At least, for a couple of drink-deprived travelers. Don't worry. It gets better the more you have."

Cole hummed in response and took this as a sign that he should pick up his pace. His next "sip" left his glass nearly empty. 

Artemis chuckled as Dorian put a hand on the man's shoulder. "Woah. Take it easy, now."

Na'Halir smiled and took to his own glass. The next hour passed in drunken content, and Na'Halir was able to hear the many stories of the famed Inquisitor. He knew that Dorian and Cole knew her, but it surprised him to find that Artemis had actually met her once before, in the Hinterlands. She told them of how the mage had helped her uncover what was left of her sister, and how the Inquisitor's bravery inspired her to become a warrior. Dorian told stories of her as well, yet much less stoic and more so . . . entertaining. Suffice to say, the conversation that night was satisfying after weeks of trudging through dungeon after dungeon and cave after cave with no energy left to fraternize. It was a relief they all needed, undoubtedly. However, as the night drew to a close and the group dispersed, Na'Halir found himself once again drawn to the ancient text laying dormant in his tent.

Maybe it should have been obvious to the Keeper that reading this late after--well, enough drinks--would be challenging. But he couldn't bring himself to sleep just yet, not in the suffocating stillness of his makeshift room. No, he needed air. And maybe a bit of moonlight, if the trees had any room to spare.

When Na'Halir stepped outside, he was satisfied by the cool breeze that immediately met his skin. The sounds of the forest once again enveloped him as he made his way to what was left of the campfire.

Beside the fire, Na'Halir was surprised to see Cole, still in the same spot he was before, this time with the final bottle of Dorian's wine in hand.

Cole glanced toward Na'Halir as he approached.

"I feel a slight tingling in my fingers." He turned back to face the half-filled bottle, as if trying to discern its properties. "I think it's affecting me."

Na'Halir held back a snort and moved to join Cole. He reached out and took the bottle from Cole, who hesitated before withdrawing his hand.

"That's because it's wine. You'll find it does that."

Cole frowned thoughtfully but stayed silent for the moment. The short silence soon expanded into a comfortable quiet, and Na'Halir found himself relaxing easily beside the blond haired rogue.

It was strange, just how at ease he felt around the other man. But he supposed it made sense. Cole was once a spirit, and Na’Halir had studied much of the Fade. He was also quiet—unassuming, even. Na’Halir had become so accustomed to self-important magisters and noble lords that the presence of someone who just . . . Was, was new and happily welcomed.

Of course, that wasn’t to say there was nothing unique about Cole. On the contrary, he was one of the strangest people Na’Halir had ever met. He spoke strangely, as if he were a poet. And there was the mind reading, as well. Yes, that had been quite the shock for everyone (besides Dorian).

But Na’Halir’s thoughts were cut short when Cole spoke up once more from his side.

”The world feels distant. Stretching, pulled too thin. . . So far away now.” Suddenly, he faced the Keeper with what could only be described as fear. “Are we in the fade?”

A pause.

”Cole, I think it’s time you got to bed.” 

—- 

Getting Cole into his tent was a simple task. Convincing him to sleep was much more difficult.

“Gods, please just lie down. You’re safe here. You have all of us with you.”

Cole shook his head adamantly, heart set on the illusion that he was stuck inside the fade.

“I don’t need rest. Not here. I should be helping, guiding—“ He stopped and turned to Na’Halir, who was in the process of shepherding Cole into the corner where his cot lay.

‘Please,’ Na’Halir thought, ‘at least sit.’

His wish was doomed, however, as Cole’s wide eyes focused on the tired (slightly tipsy) elf.

”You. You’re trapped here, aren’t you? I can help you leave. I’ve helped many people leave. The inquisitor! You know her, don’t you? She was trapped here once too.”

”Look, Cole, we’re not in the f-“

“Or are you really him?” Cole’s eyes seemed to lose their focus from Na’Halir’s gaze, and instead . . . Where was he looking, exactly?

“Are you just a demon taking his form?—Parchment, spread across a cold stone floor. A raised voice. And then pain. . .”

Na’Halir stiffened and crossed his arms. “If you could kindly stop digging into my mind again? Look, I’m not a demon or a spirit or any other sort of non corporeal being. I’m just me. Your friendly loremaster and confused tag along. No magic. No juju. Just me.”

Cole seemed hesitant at first, but then reached out his hand.

Na’Halir paused as Cole’s fingers gently met his shoulder, only partly resting past the line of his shirt and meeting skin. His hand was cold, and it took more than a little effort to supress a shiver from escaping at the chill.

”You . . . Seem real. At least—you look as much.”

His hand shifted to rest fully on his skin now, brushing against his thin neck and just barely grazing his jaw.

“I’ve lost this part of me, you see,” he says softly. “It is no longer easy for me to distinguish between what’s real and what’s a dream.”

Yes, that’s perfectly normal. If he truly did become more human, than his connection to the Fade would have undoubtedly suffered.

Na’Halir meant to share that thought, but instead for whatever reason found himself perfectly still instead.

“I can still remember—“ He was cupping his cheek now, and his usually wide eyes had become heavy with something Na’Halir wouldn’t let himself try to discern. But Cole was drawing closer with each movement, and the comfortable silence they once shared was now tense.

Then Cole’s eyes closed, and his voice grew soft.

“Hallways crowded with nothing but fear. Expectation, a heavy burden, and made heavier under the scrutiny of their gaze. Mundane work and honest shame. But also hope.”

Cole had gotten somehow closer at this point, and since his gaze remained fixed on the floor behind them, his head barely matched the height of Na’Halir’s chin.

“She was a noblewoman’s daughter. But unlike them. Kind, gentle, eyes that saw beyond and within. To him, she was separate from the dull world around him. To him, she was . . . “

Na’Halir managed a shy laugh. “Reading my thoughts again, are you?”

“It helps me know that you’re real.”

Cole glanced up at him, and something about the way he smiled at him—gentle and unsure—had Na’Halir’s heart melting. He’d almost forgotten thw hand on his cheek, but he was swiftly reminded as Cole’s chill thumb moved across his skin.

“You are real, aren’t you?”

“I-I suppose so, yes.” Na’Halir couldn’t stop himself from doing what he did next.

Moving his own hand to cover Cole’s, he carefully moved it away. At first, Cole’s eyes widened—back to their usual guarded stare—but when Na’Halir didn’t let go, he took on a puzzled frown.

“How is it,” Cole began while staring down at their hands, “that you always smell of peach? I’ve wondered that.”

Na’Halir couldn’t help the sly grin that made its way to his cheeks.

“Well,” he began, “Are you sure that’s what it is?”

Cole’s puzzled frown deepened, and to the Keeper’s shock, he leaned forward into the elf’s chest, hands gently meeting his arms as he tilted his head into the crook of his neck.

Na’Halir could feel Cole’s breath on his skin, steady and yet so shallow. His bangs brushed against his cheek, and for the first time, he realized how soft his hair truly was.

“Peach. That has to be it.”

Even as he spoke, Cole hadn’t moved, and his lips grazed the surface of Na’Halir’s skin, sending warmth to his chest.

“But if you smell of peach . . .”

And Gods, then Cole was holding his waist, meeting his eyes with his own, wide and startlingly blue.

“Do you taste of it too?”

It was all Na’Halir could do to stop himself from sputtering meaninglessly in awe. Because here Cole was, a man who had felt his pain, who soothed others as if it was his very reason for existing. A man who could kill another without even being seen, could turn and recite words so profound and bizarre that even the most revered poet would wonder at its depth. And he was . . . What? Flirting with him?

“Cole, you’re not . . . I mean, you’re not yourself. Do you remember the wine from before?”

A stupid question. It wasn’t long ago at all, was it?

But Cole didn’t quite take it as he meant it—at least, not at first.

“Yes. It tasted of bitter grape, yet too thin to be of it. It was red.” He glanced down at Na’Halir’s lips, naturally red and suddenly dry with . . . What, exactly?

Then Cole’s eyes met his once more. “No.” He paused, then seeing the expression the Keeper wore, continued quickly, “—You think I’m drunk. I’m not. The wine only displaced me slightly—detached my senses. But I’ve found them again.”

His eyes returned to Na’Halir’s lips.

“But I must know . . . Will it be peach?”

That was all it took for Na’Halir to break. The young elven loremaster took a shallow breath before closing the distance between them, and something shiffed as he did.

Immediately as their lips met, the assassin seemed to melt against him. Na’Halir quickly held him by his waist to keep him steady as the kiss deepened, and he was shocked when Cole’s arms reached around his neck and he parted his lips to explore Na’Halir’s.

Momentarily, he’d slow and trace his tongue along the elf’s bottom lip, and Na’Halir knew he was being assessed. Was it peach? Or just normal elfiness? He nearly chuckled at the thought if it weren’t for the soft hum against his lips and the feel of being guided to sit on a creaking cot.

Na’Halir always knew that Cole was a perceiver. He was a listener, an observer, and was always patient in all he did. That’s why it didn’t surprise him when the making out continued, and continued. Not that he minded—Gods, no. In fact, he never wanted it to end.

Eventually, Cole seemed to be dissatisfied with having to turn to kiss the other man, and so he turned to climb on top of his legs, where he found a much more comfortable position in his lap.

In any other circumstance, this action would have been clearly sexual, and Na’Halir was briefly stunned at the lack of arousal. But this was Cole who he was with—the same Cole who pondered at the taste of wine and marveled at old memories of love. It wouldn’t be like that, and it never had to be.

With a shy smile, Cole pulled away just barely and raised his hand again. Once more Na’Halir felt cool fingertips against his cheek, this time firmer, less unsure.

“Do you remember the night the keep was buried in snow?”

Na’Halir hesitated at the question. It wasn’t unusual for heavy snowfall in Tevinter, but to cover the walls. . . That was not something he could recall.

”I don’t, unfortunately.”

Cole didn’t seem surprised. “You were young,” he stated simply.

Then the rogue leaned forward, speaking softly to his ear.

“Would you like to?”

Na’Halir smiled. “I think I can settle in for a goodnight tale. But only if you stop being so vertical.”

Cole chuckled softly, a rare and beautiful sound.

“Alright.”


End file.
